


Scar Tissue

by TheRealMarcoBodt



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: AND NOT SUGAR COATED RACISM, Body Worship, Explicit Sex, General white fuckery, Hurt/Comfort, I'M INCLUDING ALL THE FUCKED UP HISTORY THNKS, M/M, Racial slurs, Racism, Strong Language, Violence, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-02-21 00:16:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2448305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealMarcoBodt/pseuds/TheRealMarcoBodt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What are those things on your skin?"<br/>"Freckles?"<br/>"Ni**ers don't have freckles! Do they?"<br/>"...Yes?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sold

**Author's Note:**

> I'll add character names as I go....
> 
> Please critique and comment, I'd really appreciate it!

It's hot, unbearably so, and it's not even anywhere near noon yet. The sun beats down on the cotton fields as people move through the rows and everyone seems to shuffe and drag at an uncomfortable pace. 

Marco is somehow moving even more slowly. He's sweating and blinking and pausing every few moments to hold his back with a grimace as he tries to figure out what he could've done to hurt it so badly. He'd picked up somebody else's cotton bags for them, and they're not easy to lift really, but the expecting mother had looked ready to pass out in exhaustion and Marco had told her that he would take her bag to the scales so that she could go ahead back to the sleeping cabins. 

Now it feels like someone is lighting a fire up his spine and trying to stab him in his lower back all at the same time and he doesn't know how long he's going to be able to keep going. 

It's kind of pathetic to watch, really, and the man working beside him does his best to encourage him to keep pushing on.

"C'mon Marco, you got to pick enough cotton to take to the scales at the end of the day, you can do a little bit more, c'mon now." 

The man knows he's not being entirely truthful, because he's got a whole day full of hard labour in front of him, but it seems to get the dark skinned boy moving again, even if he does pause in pain only minutes later. 

Marco grits his teeth against the pounding ache in his back and leans down to snatch another bell of cotton off its stalk. He's incredibly thirsty but it wouldn't be smart to go to the well right now. He'd probably catch a fist to the ear, or a rod on his back, and he didn't fancy that all too much, to be honest. He didn't want to have to listen to the ringing in his ears for hours afterward, and his back was already a problem on its own. The overseer was terribly heavy handed, after all. 

As if summoned just by the thoughts in Marco's head, a ruddy faced, fair skinned man rode by on his horse, sneering down his nose at every worker he passed. Marco didn't move to wipe the sweat dripping off his nose, no matter how uncomfortable it was, in favor of picking the cotton a little faster, hoping against hope that the overseer would just move on by him.

He's a decently tall boy and he's the only slave out here with freckles that go from pale to dark to pale again and it idly draws one's attention to how they map out his skin in a sea of dots and blotches of color.

Despite this, the overseer rides past, and Marco sighs in relief, hurriedly reaching up to wipe his hand across the sweat on his face. The blistering heat is tormenting him and all he really wants to do is lie down in a nice cool patch of shade and rest. 

He can only hope that the day will pass mercifully quickly and that sleeping on his hard pallet of straw and rags tonight won't make his back hurt worse tomorrow. Mr.Nile has no use for a slave that can't pick cotton, and Marco doesn't want his life to end over an aching back. 

He's been working on this plantation since he was a child, but he knows Mr.Nile, the owner of the fields, won't have any qualms about selling him off, or worse. He'd been sold to him as a young boy, and Mrs.Nile, enthralled with his "special skin" had begged her husband to let her keep him in the house. 

He'd been a source of much of her affections when younger, but as soon as he'd hit puberty, he was sent out to the fields and kept far away from any white women in general. 

At first he hadn't understood why, but it became more and more clear to him as he got older. It never took to long to hear about some black boy being strung up just for looking at a white girl the wrong way. Imagine what would happen to him for simply being alone in her bed room with her. 

Marco hadn't missed how Mr.Nile had looked at him as he grew older, picking him apart with his eyes, silently trying to figure out when was the best time to stop letting his wife use him like a doll. He didn't trust him when he was a child and he sure as hell didn't trust him once he moved into his teen years. He didn't want "one of dem' wild niggers" around his wife. There was "no telling what he'd do to her." 

Marco is pulled out of his thoughts by the clopping of a horse's hooves, fast approaching, and he straightens up with a wince to see who's coming, shielding his eyes from the sun with one calloused, scarred hand. 

One of the men that work for Mr.Nile as one of his numerous overseers rides up nearly face to face with Marco and everyone close enough to see him has stopped working to try and figure out what's going on. It's not everyday a slave gets some kind of personalised message. 

The man looks Marco over with shrewd, squinted eyes, the wrinkles by his mouth suggesting he was a man that laughed a lot, or at least a man that was constantly smiling. He certainly didn't look as if he was going to smile at Marco though, and Marco tries to quiet the butterflies of fear in his stomach as he continues to look over the man's shoulder. He didn't want to look him in the eyes and seem as if he were trying to stare him down or anything. 

"Yes sah?"

The man keeps chewing on his cheekful of tobacco, finally curling back his upper lip and spitting the putrid mouthful of juice and spit in his mouth onto the ground at Marco's feet. Marco doesn't react, keeping his face perfectly neutral, not even moving to step away from the disgusting warmth of spit going between his toes. 

"Mr.Nile wants to see you at the house, right now, leave your cotton bag here, another nigger will bring in for you. Understand that, boy?"

Marco nods hurriedly and drops his bag beside the man standing next to him, shooting him an apologetic glance, even though he knows he literally has no say in whether or not someone else will have to carry his bag. 

The man has already turned his horse around and rode down the line, shouting for everyone to get back to work, 'before he starts handing out beatings. ' Marco winces when he sees him cuff a girl that couldn't have been older than 14 in the back of her head for trying to tie her head scarf tighter and he waits the barest second to watch her get back to work before making his way up the central path to get to the big house. 

As Marco walks, he wonders what he's being called for. He's a good worker, quiet.He doesn't ever cause anybody any grief. He keeps his head down and his nose clean. Mr.Nile will even occasionally brag about how well behaved he is when he shows him off to his friends. So surely he couldn't be in any trouble? Right?

Marco picked up his pace, a little anxious. If he was in trouble, taking his time getting there surely wasn't going to improve his situation. 

There was nothing to do but brood until he was finally walking up onto the large, stately porch of the house, stopping when he reached the black wrought iron door. He could see Mr.Nile and his wife standing in the front hall, talking to someone he couldn't see. 

He waited for a break in the conversation, not wanting to show any disrespect by interrupting them. When it became clear there wouldn't be one any time soon, he decided he'd wait until Mrs.Nile noticed him standing there, seeing as she was aimlessly looking around while her husband did most of the talking. It was only a few moments until she glanced at the door, stiffening slightly in surprise before nudging her husband's waist. 

"Marco's at the door darlin'."

Mrs.Nile seems pleased to see him and Marco nods to her humbly, knowing that she was only happy because the novelty of his freckles had never worn off. Mr.niles looks considerably less happy and turns with a scowl, raising an eyebrow at Marco before he begins to speak. 

"Took your time there, didn't you, boy?" 

Marco doesn't really know what to say. He tried to get here without all out running, and he hadn't wasted any time on the walk up. He's responded a lot slower than this before and he's never been reprimanded for it. 

Marco opens and closes his mouth, trying to find, and failing to find an acceptable response. He decides to go with an apology. 

"Sorry sah." 

Mr.Nile looks cooly at him before sniffing in contempt and turning to his yet to be seen guests. 

"Well, there the boy is. Unusual looking, no?" 

Marco is surprised when a tall, pale, angry looking man steps into the hallway, peering at Marco closely. He's scrutinising him, looking him over with sharp, piercing blue eyes and Marco unconsciously shuffles back, intimidated. 

"Yes, I suppose so...but there must be something wrong with him, for you to be so eager to give him away." 

Marco feels his blood freeze, looking at Mr.Nile in bewilderment. Give away? He couldn't give Marco away! This had been his home since he'd been a little boy and he had a family here now! All the older women that worked in the house that coddled him and fussed over his hair, all the other boys and girls he'd worked beside nearly all his life. What were they talking about?!

Mr.Nile chortles and lightly pinches his wife's side, wrapping an arm around her affectionately. 

"Oh no, certainly not. He's as healthy as an ox. The wife wouldn't stop going on and on about him and it was a while ago that I decided it was time for him to move on. I just couldn't be bothered to take him to auction. You said yourself, you're looking to buy, and why would I have a good friend waste money, when I'm looking to give away?

Marco tenses and looks back and forth at the two men in utter disbelief. This couldn't be happening. 

Give away?! What does he mean, give away?! 

He's lived here nearly his whole life, and hasn't cause anyone a lick of trouble, so why is Mr.Nile giving him away?! Why not the boy they caught trying to run away last week? Marco brings in more cotton than he does anyway!

Marco opens his mouth to say so, but he's interrupted by the angry looking man stepping off the porch to get into his face. 

"He isn't well trained is he?"

Marco shuffles away from him without much thought and Mr.Nile pats the man's shoulder with a shake of his head, chortling as if he knew a joke that everyone else didn't. 

"No slave is well trained to you, Jacques, am I right?"

Mrs.Nile giggled into her hand and Marco is left wondering what's so funny, as the man, Jacques apparently, lifted his lips in a dry smile.

"Quite right, Nile, addled looking though he is, I think I'll take him." 

Marco furrowed his brow and clasped his hand in front him, biting at his lip. This wasn't fair at all! How could Mr.Nile even consider him a problem when he didn't even come into the house anymore? It wasn't his fault that his wife had some kind of strange fetish for black boys with freckles. He grit his teeth against the tears he could feel welling up as he thought about leaving all his friends and, in a way, family. 

Mr.Nile turned to Marco, smiling kindly at him as if he was doing him some great favor. 

"Go get your things from your bunkhouse, boy. You don't have much, so don't take long. Be ready to leave with Mr.Kirschtein." 

Marco grits his teeth and nods his head, not bothering even look up at anyone as he turns to go. 

"Yes sah."

The words are bitter as they leave his mouth and the walk to the bunkhouse is nothing less than torture. Nobody is inside to see Marco angrily wipe away his tears, seeing as they're all out in the fields, but that also means he isn't even going to be able to say his goodbyes. All the older women that treat him as a grandson are inside the house nannying and cooking for the white folks, and he'll be long gone before everyone comes in for the night. 

He rubs his face in frustration, desperately wishing he could leavea note or letter for them to find. Too bad he didn't know how to write, or read for that matter. Actually if he left a note, it'd only be of use as tinder because nobody else could read either. 

How ironic, Marco thinks bitterly. He'd just been thinking of being sold this morning but he'd never thought it'd actually happen to him. Mr.Nile didn't have a large plantation, therefore, he didn't buy nor sell that many slaves. They'd all gotten close and used to each other and now he's being spirited away out of the blue. 

Marco desolately packs his things into a worn burlap sack. He doesn't have much, as Mr.Nile'd said. He's got some clothes, a handkerchief from a girl he'd courted, and a broken toothed comb. He looks around once more, deciding there isn't much else to take and makes his way back to the big house. 

Damn, Damn, Damn.


	2. On the way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long to get here, and it's really short, I know, but I tried writing it a bit longer and it doesn't really fit well or sound right to me, but trust me the next chapter will be longer, and the wait for it will be shorter. If you see any typos, tell me please! I type on an IPad so those do happen, and they sometimes escape my notice.

When Marco gets back, a horse drawn carriage is pulled up in front of the house, ready to go. It's got a cart attached to the back and Marco suspects that that's what he'll making his trip to Mr.Kirschtein's plantation in. It's made of rough wood and it's probably not that comfortable, but it's a hell of a lot better than walking. He won't climb in it until somebody tells him to though. He doesn't want to seem eager to leave, and it'd be terribly awkward if he wasn't meant to be in it. 

He stops walking when he's standing right behind the cart, still visible to the group of people on the porch but not really in their direct line of sight either. Maybe, by some miraculous stroke of luck, they'll forget all about him, and Mr.Kirschtein will leave Marco right where he belongs, and he'll live happily ever after on this here plantation. 

Marco knows that that's stupid and basically impossible but he's always been a dreamer, and above all an optimist, so there's no harm in hoping. Perhaps Mr.Kirschtein would realise he didn't need a slave and that Marco wasn't really what he was looking for anyhow. Perhaps he would have a heart attack right there on the porch and keel over before he even thought of loading marco into the stupid wagon. 

Speaking of the people the on the porch, Marco turns his attention towards them, hoping to hear something useful about where he was being hauled off to. 

Nothing remotely helpful is said about the plantation he's going to be working at, but Marco keeps listening anyway. They aren't saying much of anything, really, it's all small talk, and numerous attempts at ending the conversation by Mr.Kirschtein. They talk about seeing each other again sometime soon, but by the way Mr.Kirschtein sneers, even Marco can tell he doesn't mean it. 

Marco sneezes into his shoulder, grunting in pain as his back protests, and unthinkingly drawing everyone's attention to himself. 

"Marco!" 

Mr.Nile sweeps his arms out, smiling jovially at him as if Marco should be smiling as well.  
"Took you long enough! Toss your bag into the cart, and climb on up." 

Mr.Kirschtein keeps standing on the porch, smiling at Nile as if he'd just been gifted a hunting dog that he didn't really want, but would take for the sake of it being free. A grimace of sorts, if you asked Marco. 

But nobody was asking Marco, so he stood solemnly to the side, watching the way the horses at the front of the carriage stomped their hooves and stirred up thick red dust. 

He didn't want to believe he was leaving but he was. He didn't want to go, but he had no choice, so he might as well just suck it up now. Go ahead and steel himself to get established in a new place, with new people, and to be incorporated into a new pecking order. 

He tossed his bag up before hoisting himself into the wagon, pleasantly surprised to find hay and straw strewn all over the bottom. This cart must've been used to move animals of some sort before they'd hooked it up to the carriage and no one had knocked all the bedding out. Lucky him. 

Mr. Nile stepped off the porch, striding over to Marco with a rope in his hand. 

"Hold your hands out now, boy."

Marco obediently pushes one hand through the wooden slat of the cart, holding out the other on top of the board, allowing Mr.Nile to bind his hands together and to the wooden plank. He winces as the rope is pulled, chafing his skin and squeezing his wrists uncomfortably tight together. His bondage deemed acceptable, mr.Nile takes a step back to look Marco over, then turns and walks back to the porch, slinging his arm around his wife's waist. 

"Well, that'll do ya, Jacques. Don't forget to bring back my cart when you can."

"Of course, of course, Nile. I'll have one of my boys bring it back just as soon as he's unloaded."

Mr.Kirschtein steps off the porch too, finally escaping from Mrs.Nile's numerous goodbyes, and Mr.Nile's excessive last minute stories. He seems relieved to be climbing into his carriage and shutting the door, waving once again through the little window before closing the curtains. 

A few moments later Marco feels his body lurch as the cart takes off, moving down the path that leads to the main road. He feels sick as he watches the houses shrink, and the cotton fields go by him, consequently getting tinier as well. 

This was real, this was actually happening, lord save him. Mr.Kirchstein wasn't the kindest looking man and Marco could only hope that he'd be half as lenient as Mr.Nile. He didn't beat people often and he gave everyone good meals and Marco could feel the reality of his situation setting in. 

Who even knew what he was being bought for?! What if Mr.Kirschtein wanted to use him for breeding? Marco had heard tales about that kind of life and he didn't want anything to do with at all. Being forced to couple with people you didn't love, or even know for that matter, for the sake of having particular types of children made Marco want to hit someone. 

Or, what if he was buying him for fighting?! Marco didn't want to fight other boys for some white man's entertainment and he'd kill himself before he killed another black boy like that. 

Marco resists the urge to hurl as his stomach clenches in anxiety. Throwing up in the back of the wagon would be no good. Maybe he was working himself up needlessly. Maybe Mr.Kirschtein would be an okay owner and Marco was just being needlessly dramatic. 

"Yea, and he could be buying you just to set you free because secretly he's an abolitionist, you damned fool." a cruel voice hissed in his head and Marco tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. 

Well, at this point, all he could really do was wait and see. It wasn't an appealing option, but it's his only option, and with that Marco rests his forehead against the wooden slat of the trailer and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to ignore the intense pain in his back that seems to intensify over every bump in the road. He hopes against hope that perhaps he'll fall asleep on the way there. 

He doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long to get here, and it's really short, I know, but I tried writing it a bit longer and it doesn't really fit well and sound right to me, but trust me the next chapter will be longer, and the wait for it will be shorter. If you see any typos, tell me please! I type on an IPad so those do happen, and they sometimes escape my notice.


	3. HELLO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DAMN

Listen, I know it's been a hell of a long time. I am SORRY. I just fell out of it because my life got busy and hard, but if anyone is still interested in this, AND I DO MEAN ANYONE, I WILL CONTINUE IT. I WILL START WRITING ON IT TOMORROW IF ANYBODY SHOWS INTEREST. I RE-READ IT AND HONESTLY I FIND IT TO BE SOMETHING I WOULD LOVE CONTINUING. JUST LET ME KNOW.


	4. Just wanted to update. I will delete these when I post chapter 3.

I had no idea that it was exam time and that's why chapter 3 is taking a bit of time, however, my last exam is tomorrow and I will be able to resume working on this then! I didn't want anyone to think I'd dropped off again. Thanks and love!


	5. Sorry to keep doing these stupid updates, just wanna keep y'all in the loop.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am a college kid that sucks at math and life management :)))

Ok, Chap 3 is nearly finished but it honestly has a lot of work that still needs to be done to it. I have been trying to work on it when I can but most of my time is dedicated to my math class and tutoring sessions, very sorry guys! But school gets out in about 8 weeks and I'll be free to work on my personal projects. Sorry that the timing is ridiculous! :(

**Author's Note:**

> Please please please harass me about this story on tumblr
> 
> http://the-real-marco-bodt.tumblr.com


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